


I Am for You

by Enisy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy
Summary: Orihime’s life, chronicled through the eyes of someone who loves her.
Relationships: Ulquiorra Cifer/Inoue Orihime
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	I Am for You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 2010. Beta-read by Hinodeh. Updated in 2020 with some minor corrections.

**(at 8)**

The sun presides over Karakura Town like the eye of an ancient god, and its playground teems with children.

They are the cream of the viscous, rotten crop that is humanity. They produce dissonant sounds; they scurry; they yell, eat, cry, defecate. They act as if life is more than an abattoir and they are more than stocked meat, no matter that they’re solid, clammy and lukewarm, and scarlet on the inside.

Most of them are congregated atop the playground’s bogus fortress. Some mount the slides, others vandalize the swing sets. Curiously, there is only one of their kin on the merry-go-round: a girl, maybe eight or nine years old. She’s gathered her skirts up to keep them from trailing on the dirt, and she spins the apparatus with one foot and a lonely concentration. Her hair is red.

Tch.

Ulquiorra leans back against the wire fence framing the lot and scans everything dispassionately. That Yammy is sluggish as ever; they will be late for their reconnaissance mission if he doesn’t show up soon.

“Hey, isn’t that –”

“It is, it is!”

“Oh _prin_ cess!”

Ulquiorra turns his head a fraction: a group of five girls have spotted the small redhead, with whom they seem to be acquainted. They’re advancing toward her with a swagger.

“Hello,” she greets weakly, now sitting perfectly still on the disk.

“Your hair is uglier than a rat’s,” the tallest of them says without preamble.

“Seriously, who has _red hair_?”

“Did you dunk it in a barrel of tomato juice?”

“Did you skin a fox and make a wig out of its fur?”

The Espada watches, impassive, as the scuffle mushrooms and unfolds. A shove here; a pinch, a hair-pull there; and for the coup de grâce, the girl is chained to the merry-go-round by her ropy locks, while the gang takes it for a spin. Must be painful, Ulquiorra notes absently. The girls all snort laughter at the redhead’s mischance – as if it even matters.

A man comes to pick her up while Ulquiorra’s still waiting, and she blurts some idiotic excuse about falling off the swings from a height. At the same time, a rift swishes open behind the wire fence, to reveal Yammy.

The Cuatro Espada deigns the pair with one last glance: the man is taking the girl’s hand in his own, giving it a comforting squeeze.

She smiles – as if it even matters.

* * *

**(at 16-19)**

Aizen-sama charges him with the abduction and incarceration of the healer – Inoue Orihime – and subsequently places her in his care. She is an interesting woman. She makes him question his philosophies, she generates a stir within his hole like the shifting of tectonic plates, and when she reaches for his hand, it is a curiosity and an absolution and it _does_ matter. It matters.

Three years go by until he reconstitutes himself and returns to her. Soul Society turns a blind eye: in the worst case, he and the rest of the Arrancar can be petty nuisances; in the best, they can be reluctant allies. After all, Aizen-sama is gone, and with him their past identities; they’ve had to make new ones. Grimmjow is no longer the Sexta Espada, but Hueco Mundo’s king. Nnoitra is Zaraki Kenpachi’s rival. Neliel is Kurosaki Ichigo’s friend. Gantenbainne is Yasutora Sado’s sparring partner.

And Ulquiorra… Ulquiorra is just Inoue Orihime’s.

“Nine more Hollows until the hill is consecrated,” she says, rapping on her barrier to make sure it will hold. “But Ulquiorra, Kurosaki-kun won’t be here to purify them until later! If you don’t wanna help, you should stay in your tent, resting!”

“I do not enjoy the ‘sleeping bag.’ It is unsanitary, hard and abnormal, much like last week’s ‘cake.’” He ignores her pout to supplement: “As for that Hollow, it didn’t seem like you needed me.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because,” he begins, processing this feeling in his mind, crunching it into facts and figures, “I wasn’t there, that one time – when you did need me.” He thinks he is referring to Loly and Menoly’s ambush, but he can’t be sure.

“Thank you, Ulquiorra!"

His chest aches and crawls. He doesn’t know what to do with this. Arrancar customs would mandate violence, and he’s only observed human customs furtively, from a distance. Nevertheless, he leans in and plants a long, noisy kiss on her cheek.

“Whuh… what’d you do that for?”

“You should know, woman,” he says accusingly, a little frustrated by her blatant lack of enthusiasm, by his own behavior. “I thought humans were the authorities on emotions.”

Inoue Orihime makes a big show of avoiding his stare. He doesn’t understand why; he’s looking at her as he’s always looked at her.

Ulquiorra hears her steal into Ishida Uryuu’s tent later, when it’s dark. They talk for hours in hushed, worried voices; he can guess at the subject. More confessions are made that day besides his.

* * *

**(at 20-26)**

Shortly after the consecration of that wretched hill, Inoue Orihime modifies, improves, and finally reprises her ‘five lifetimes’ speech. The recipient, this time, is Ishida Uryuu. He’s even awake for it, which is progress – though be it the Quincy or the Shinigami she settles on, it makes little difference to Ulquiorra. Either way, these are five lifetimes in which she won’t belong to him.

He tries his best to stay out of her feet in the years that follow. He dons his white uniform and occupies himself with various military enterprises. That’s easy to do; he’s always been a follower. Watching her from afar and not touching her is what’s hard, because the thing she’s summoned in his guts leaps at the thought of her like a trapezist, like a sardine on a skillet.

Well, that’s not true. He does touch.

“ _Ulquiorra_? Is that really… is it you?”

Now and then. Fleetingly.

“Yes, it’s me. I did not mean to disturb you. Don’t bother getting up – I was only dropping in for a minute. I will leave you be.”

“You’re you!” the woman continues undeterred. “You’re… here!”

She jumps from her seat at the dressing table and totters over to the porch, where he’s standing. The stars are shiny and round above them like marbles on blue felt, and he can feel every arch of her body when she hugs him. Including one that hadn’t been there before.

“You are with child,” he comments needlessly. Inoue Orihime has tears in her eyes when she nods, which makes him narrow his own in hatred and suspicion. “I can get rid of it if –”

“No! No. That’s not why I’m crying, it’s just…” She breaks physical contact. There’s a hole in his center, and he’d forgotten, and he feels it again now with a sense of wonder. “I haven’t seen you since we wiped that hill clean of Hollows. Ulquiorra, that was seven years ago!”

“What’s your point?”

“Are you mad at me? About what happened?”

“No,” he says, “no, I’m only busy. The Arrancar have formed a semi-cohesive war force, and I’m assisting them in their expeditions. I’ll be around, but don’t expect me to stalk you… anymore.”

“So…”

“So.”

They stand around stiffly. Ulquiorra shoves his hands in his pockets; Inoue Orihime lowers her eyes to the ground. The curve of her belly extends towards him like a forbidding scythe, ripping a trench between their worlds.

* * *

**(at 39)**

“Michiko, come on, don’t play tic-tac-toe on the glass display. Why don’t you pick out two pastries for us while I look for my wallet?” The sun gleams serenely through the window, and the bakery’s so rife with colors and sugary smells that it’s a wonder Inoue Orihime can still pay heed to someone as drab, as monotonous as Ulquiorra. But she does, and she skips over, clutching two loaves of bread to her chest. “Make that three pastries!” she amends.

“Woman.”

“Ulquiorra. Good thing she hasn’t noticed you yet. She’ll want to poke your facial marks, chip the black off your nails, lasso stray kittens with your scarf –”

“Yes, I remember.”

He looks her up and down. Her face is touched by faint lines now, like strokes of the finest calligraphy, and while there are still males who wolf-whistle over her figure, they don’t come in the astronomical numbers of yore. Ulquiorra, for his part, doesn’t see the difference. The body is only a brocade of flesh, only a rococo cage of bone; he’s always been more interested in the bright, fluttering thing inside.

“So what have you been you up to, Ulquiorra?”

“Nothing of note.”

“Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“Have you found a girlfriend yet?”

“I’m not interested.”

“What would you rather have for a pet: a duck-billed platypus or a black rhinoceros?”

“Where’s Ishida Uryuu?” he deflects.

“He’s at work,” she replies, visibly disappointed at his refusal to play along. “He’s got an early shift today. Ah, there’s your pastry!”

Before the little girl can catch up to them and dole out the confections, he takes Inoue Orihime’s palm and presses a kiss to it.

“W-Wha? Are you serious? You can’t be serious. Hee hee, it tickles! _Ulquiorra_!”

Not for the first time, he wonders if the Shinigami are right to talk about past and future lives: about a reincarnation cycle. Will he know her again? Has he known her before? She’s there in every mad fantasy he puts together, and she is precious. Sometimes he’s a boy and she’s his best friend; other times he’s a knight and she’s his lady; a brother and his sister, a planet and its nurturing galaxy, a swan and his lifemate, a son and his mother, a writer and his muse, a pasha and his concubine, a dragon and his princess a flower and its soil a husband and his wife a scientist and –

* * *

**(at 50)**

“Come away with you?” Inoue Orihime asks. Her eyes are crowded with bewilderment; there doesn’t seem to be room left for any other emotion. Ulquiorra is rather thankful when the tea kettle forces her to look away by letting out a series of demanding whistles. She takes her time pouring the both of them tea and frowning in concentration. Finally, she opens her mouth to deliver her ripened, ponderous conclusion: “…come away with you?”

“Yes,” Ulquiorra replies testily. “Even today, if it suits you. Even now.”

“Ulquiorra… whoa… your crazy talk may not be as regular as mine, but it’s much trippier.” She ticks the cons off on her fingers: “I’m married with two children, I have a day job, I’d be more likely to pass for your mother than your girlfriend, and you, uh, want us to elope?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I'm sorry… it doesn’t work that way.”

Silence perches on the walls and furniture, makes itself comfortable. He imagines he and the woman must look like creatures out of a children’s fairytale: the ambassadors of two queer and inimical races, conferring over identical cups of tea.

“If you had the chance to do it over, would you still choose him?” Ulquiorra suddenly asks.

“If I had _five_ chances I would,” Inoue Orihime answers with a confident lilt. “Look, we weren’t gonna work out anyway. I mean, can you imagine it? You and Tatsuki-chan would be thumb-wrestling all day out of spite! And you abhor human society, so you’d refuse to get a job – we’d have to busk to earn our daily bread! We’d have to juggle leeks and wasabi roots, or throw down for people’s amusement! And… and if we had a daughter, you’d probably name her ‘Ophelia’ in the hope that she would drown. She wouldn’t grow on you until months later, by which time, instead of packing her something normal like onigiri for school, you’d be packing her, oh… a veal escalope in sauce with sauerkraut and braised potatoes. And, well…”

Her features slowly melt, until a soft, wistful smile takes over. Clearly, this all doesn’t sound so bad.

Again the room turns stuffy with a silence like dust particles. Inoue Orihime ventures: “Your…” She clears her throat, takes his cup and rises from her seat. “Your tea has gotten cold.”

* * *

**(at 67)**

He’s heard them talking. He knows it will happen today.

The woman’s husband has already passed on, as have the rest of the oddballs who’d comprised her Hueco Mundo rescue team. Ulquiorra assumes their premature demises are all due to past supernatural experiences. Death is not something to be feared and avoided when you’re acquainted with the afterlife.

She’s curled up on the couch, reading a book – a comedy, if her smiles and chuckles are anything to go by. The movements of her body are slower these days, the sweep of her face bears more wrinkles; her hair is mostly grey. Such details chronicle a long journey, but are otherwise irrelevant. Ulquiorra regards them with the same scientific aloofness he would have deployed for a new dye, or a change of nail polish.

He watches her from his vantage point, half inside his Garganta, half outside her window, seeing but unseen.

He’s there when the heart attack takes her.

He’s there when the Chain of Fate snaps and her body is left behind, empty and deflated.

He’s there when her spirit abandons the couch and wanders over to the kitchen, sizing up the hill of dirty plates, peering into a boiling pot, sniffing at the laid-out spices – going through the motions.

He’s there, and he’s there still.

It’s her long-time friends, Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia, who eventually come to collect her. It’s a happy occasion for all three of them, but they don’t waste much time with pleasantries. Kurosaki Ichigo already has the heel of his sword poised over Inoue Orihime’s forehead when a strange bleeping breaks the air.

“What the –”

“Hollow,” Kuchiki Rukia explains, fishing out the electronic detector responsible for the sound.

The male Shinigami sighs exasperatedly. “It’s probably just… you know…” He masks the word behind a discreet cough: “Ulquiorra.”

Inoue Orihime had been zoning out, like she does, but she jolts awake at the mention of his name. “Is he here? Again – still? Why… why can’t I see him?” A burst of reiatsu alerts her to the reality of his presence. “Oh,” she exhales. Her eyes are swimming with affection. “Oh, you dummy.”

The first couple exchange worried glances over the second couple. “Orihime, should we wait, or are you…?”

“No. No, I’m ready. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Indeed she is. She goes gladly, with a smile.

After they’ve departed, Ulquiorra approaches the husk that’s sprawled on the couch like a beached seashell. He touches his hand to her cold, motionless brow.

“Be safe, Inoue Orihime,” he says. “Four lifetimes to go.”


End file.
